If Skye were keeping a tally of every gunshot, car crash, or psuedo-religious chant she'd heard in the last sixty minutes, her laptop would've run out of memory by now. As such, she counted seventeen bangs followed by a whooping war cry and a death scream. Whoever had won the battle shot a few more times into the air (or so Skye hoped) before a car door slammed and tires screeched. For one blissful second, all was silence.
Her personal laptop was on, kept out of sleep mode by a wireless mouse. Every few minutes, Sky would push it along with her foot. Sometimes left, sometimes right. The family photo watched her like a guardian angel, keeping her safe tonight.
"Remember that one Christmas when we did our first Secret Santa exchange?" Skye bit her lip so she wouldn't laugh out loud. "Hunter replaced Fitz's gift to Jemma as a prank. I don't know who looked like they wanted to die more when she unwrapped that book of tantric positions."
It had taken days for Fitz to convince Jemma it wasn't her real gift. At least he thought it did. Jemma privately confided in Skye on Boxing Day that she knew he hadn't picked it. He wouldn't have had the guts. Skye never found out if Jemma ever came clean to him. The following Christmas was spent on the couch, cocooned in Mrs. Baugh's quilt, staring at her laptop screen.
She went to get a water bottle out of the fridge. Smoke leaked through the shield over her kitchen window, but she wasn't perturbed. The back alley was a popular spot for would be arsonists. Earlier, she heard two men were arguing over sports statistics while setting their boss's head on fire. She grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. Biting into it, she deliberately got some of the juices on her nose. The sweet scent almost completely overtook the ash.
The phone rang right as she was sitting down, which would've been fine, even on Purge night, except it wasn't Skye's smartphone. The cord phone nailed to the wall was a relic from the pre-cell phone days that only remained because Mrs. Baugh saw no reason to remove it. If it rang, it was only ever her calling. What she wanted now of all times, Skye didn't know, but a black cloud of dread settled over her intuition.
"Hi Mrs. Baugh, is everything okay?"
"Mary! I'm so glad you answered," Mrs. Baugh said, her breath labored. "Yes, yes, everything's fine, but could you please come down to my office? It'll only take a second."
From outside came an ear piercing schwing, then howling laughter mixed with screams of pain, and a voice saying, "Just missed his nuts!'"
"Mary? Are you there?"
"Yeah, sorry," Skye said, turning away from the window. "I'll be right down."
The elevators were turned off for the night as a safety precaution, and Skye was halfway to the ground floor when it hit her that she'd left her cell phone. She felt her pockets to be sure, but they were flat and empty save for lint. She was three steps up from the fourth floor and going back meant climbing six stories when she'd already have to do all ten later. Skye made a point to keep physically active, but just this once, she decided to be lazy. It wasn't like she would need it for anything.
Mrs. Baugh wasn't alone when Skye got to her office, and in retrospect, that should've been the first red flag. There were two men, well over six foot and packed with fat and muscle. It was a wonder they'd even gotten through the door. One had a beard and brown eyes. The other had a scar on his neck and blue eyes. Aside from that, they were virtually indistinguishable, right down to the unsavoury way they appraised her like a slab of meat on a rack.
"Oh good, you're here!" Mrs. Baugh ran to her with tears in the corners of her eyes. "I was afraid you weren't coming."
Why would that be? They'd only hung up a minute ago. It didn't take that long to climb the stairs. "Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you." She kept her eyes on the two men. "What's going on?"
Mrs. Baugh shook her head. "It's awful, Mary. The insurance company raised the premium on my Purge insurance yesterday. They wanted three times the normal rate!"
"Three times?" Skye exclaimed. "You've got to be kidding me! They can't get away with this."
"They can, Mary, and they do," Mrs. Baugh sniffled. "But there is good news. These gentlemen represent a non-profit organization for the protection of low income homes on Purge night, and they've graciously offered their services. Gentlemen, this is Mary."
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Poots," the blue eyed one said. He had a higher-pitched voice than his size would imply, but there was still evil in his tone. Skye didn't want to acknowledge him, or the way he said that name. Almost as if he knew...
"That's great, Mrs. Baugh," she said. "Why did you want me to come down, though?"
At this, Mrs Baugh's face fell. It wasn't that she stopped smiling. Every bit of happiness she'd ever experienced seemed to have drained away in an instant. What was left was an old woman who had never looked more her age. "Sweetheart, I… I need you to understand how important it is to me that everyone under my roof is safe."
"I do understand," said Skye. That feeling of dread was coming back.
"And while they don't charge a monetary fee, I do have to give them something in return."
Rough hands clamped down on her arms, pulling Skye off her feet. Her vision seemed to darken, but it was only the ceiling as her head was thrown back. Her brain rattled, any struggling mere instinct and not a conscious thought. It wouldn't have mattered if it was, their bruising grips were impossible to break. Adrenaline roared in Skye's ears, allowing her to think clearly once more and realize they were kidnapping her right now, but even that wasn't enough
"Let me go!" she shouted, kicking at the man on her left and missing by a wide margin. "Get off- Mrs. Baugh, help me!"
The landlady cried into her hands, turning away from the scene. "I'm sorry, Mary. They wanted one person for their Purge. I didn't pick you, please don't think I did. It was them. I didn't want to."
"Then don't!" Skye screamed desperately. The blue eyed man motioned at the grunts and they dragged her out. Skye's nails scratched the door frame, seeking any sort of leverage, meager as it may be. "Tell them you won't do it. Tell them!"
"I have to!" Mrs. Baugh sobbed. "Don't you understand? There are children here! Innocent people. Oh God forgive me! God forgive me!"
They got Skye outside. She smelled smoke and tasted blood. One of the men grabbed her flailing legs before she kicked his teeth out, but if he thought that would stop her, he was about to learn. Until they got her in the car, Skye screamed, writhed, scratched, kicked, and punched. Even after throwing her into the backseat, she pounded at the windows. The door handle was gone and the locks looked like they'd been glued in place. One of the men got in after her and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back.
"Keep your goddamn mouth shut," he growled in her face.
"Why should I?" Skye spat out. "Not like anyone's going to care. If you can kill me and get away with it, then I can scream as much as I want."
"Not in here you can't," he said. "Because it annoys me, and if you keep annoying me, you're not gonna like what happens next."
"Bobby!" the man in the driver's seat snapped. "Fuck off with that shit. You know what the boss said. No one touches her but him."
Though Bobby seemed to have the temper of an irate gorilla, this boss of theirs was scary enough that he let go of her hair and moved to the other end of the car, a stony glare his final act of warning. They drove down a road Skye had yet to explore. She'd heard it was a bad neighborhood full of drunks and reprobates, and anyone who went there at the wrong time didn't come back alive. A frightening thought when you already lived on the bad side of town.
On this night, the worst of the worst paraded opening through the streets, guns out and knives drawn. Two men on motorcycles rode past them, shooting out windows and streetlights. An unsettling enough sight without a man's torso dragged along by chains. His lower jaw rested on his collarbone, his face grey and frozen in eternal fear. A trail of blood was left in his wake; he'd already run out of guts to spill out.
A woman sat on the curb in a red stained wedding dress, the mutilated bodies of a man and a woman at her feet. She bobbed her head, humming 'Before He Cheats' and licking the soiled blade of a machete.
A group of high schoolers in ghoulish Uncle Sam masks danced around another group of high schoolers hogtied and sobbing through ballgags. One girl had been handcuffed spread eagle between two poles and the Purgers were taking turns throwing knives at her. A boy in an Abe Lincoln hat got her in the eye, earning the respect and envy of his peers for such impeccable marksmanship.
At that point, Skye had to look away. If she was going to die tonight, it would not be in tears. Her life in foster care had taught her to be tough, and her lessons with Phil taught her to be fearless before an enemy. Even as her insides shriveled up and the blood drained from her veins, they would never see her beg.
"Hey, relax," said Bobby, wheezing as he laughed. "Nobody said you're gonna die for sure. We don't know what the boss wants with you. Maybe you'll live through this."
"Yeah. It'd be a waste to kill a sexy thing like you. Maybe he just wants to have some fun." Bobby's partner in the driver's seat said. He watched her through the rearview mirror. It was impossible to tell from this vantage point, but Skye didn't think he was looking at her eyes. She curled up into a ball, hiding everything from view. "Come on, don't be like that. It's a compliment."
After she finished throwing up in her mouth, Skye would've happily told him where he could stick his 'compliment'. The car jolted before she could, skidding along the sidewalk, pushed by whatever had just rammed into them. The impact sent Skye flying, her undone seat belt limp and useless as she cracked her head on the glass. Her head, still burning from Bobby's manhandling earlier, exploded anew with pain. A black shape took form, the light of a single blinking streetlight unable to penetrate the darkness. Skye rubbed away the cloud over her eyes and traced the faint outline of a car's hood.
"What the hell was that?" Bobby shouted.
"Some idiot ran into us," said the driver.
He whipped out his gun and stepped out. The door locked automatically and tempting as it was to try, making a break for it now would only get her beaten into unconsciousness. Or shot dead if Bobby decided it was worth the reprimand.
That was reinforced when Bobby shoved the barrel of his gun under her neck. Skye closed her mouth tight. She didn't even breathe. She saw Phil and Audrey and all her friends, one by one in her mind's eye. All the most important moments in her life played out like a slide show.
"You ever been shot before, sweetheart?" He clicked off the safety. "I got a bullet in the leg once. Worst pain I ever had. You even think about getting outta this car, you're gonna find out what that's like."
He shoved her down and exited the car. Though it auto-locked like the driver's side door, the handle was intact. It stared at Skye invitingly. Unless they'd tricked out the central lock system to only open with a key, there was nothing keeping her from getting out and running until the skin peeled off her feet. Nothing except that bullet to the leg.
Her captors approached the other car, guns get the ready. The window was still open from when Bobby threw away a cigarette butt. Not enough to facilitate an escape, but enough that she could hear them.
"Yoo-hoo!" Bobby's partner sang, aiming at the driver. "Hey buddy, you okay?"
The man in the other car groaned. He was face down on the dashboard, limp and most likely injured from the collision. Skye crawled into the front seat to get a better look. The thought of getting behind the wheel and driving away came and went. Bobby's friend had the keys and hot wiring took forever, if it worked at all.
The man in the car whimpered and tried to lift his head. Whatever he'd broken must've been serious. Even using both arms, he couldn't support his own weight. "Oh God… it hurts…"
"That looks bad, partner," said Bobby. He poked his gun in through the passenger side window, which was rolled all the way down for some idiotic reason. "Anything we can do to help?"
The man in the car shivered and sobbed. "W-well actually…" He pushed the muzzle of a 12 gauge shotgun into Bobby's face. "You can burn."
The bullet tore Billy's brains out.
Or was his name Bobby?
Ah, whatever. Not like it mattered. He was dead and soon his partner would be banging on Hell's gate with him. Rumlow didn't remember his name either, but he knew his face and that was good enough.
Billy or Bobby's brains painted the walls of a run down tobacco shop. His fat body crumpled to the ground, a pistol falling from his hands at Rumlow's feet. He left it for now. No Name had recovered from the shock and bullets were flying in all directions. That was no exaggeration. This guy was either stupid or shitting himself too hard to aim. One kick to the chest knocked him off his feet. He clung to the gun for dear life, but once he hit the pavement, his fingers slipped. Rumlow stomped on them as No Name reached for his weapon, breaking one instantly.
"Not this time," he said.
The last time he saw No Name, the slimy bastard had been giving him crocodile tears because the mission had gone south and his men needed him. He'd let Rumlow go in first, because as the leader, it was his job to lead. He'd jammed his gun into Rumlow's back as Rollins dispatched him of every weapon on his person, leaving him defenseless. When the bastard who'd turned Rumlow's men against him congratulated No Name, the little weasel was practically coming in his pants. He licked his new leaders boots while the others forced Rumlow to his knees.
"I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what I did!" No Name's eyes watered. Blood and snot gushed from both nostrils. He pawed at Rumlow's leg. God help him if he tried kissing anything.
"No, you're not," Rumlow said, pressing down harder on No Name's hand. His cracking bones made the most satisfying sound. "You're scared. Big difference."
He kicked No Name in the stomach, winding him. As he struggled for air, Rumlow shot him twice in the chest and throat. No Name spat out mouthfuls of blood, gurgled, and died in agony. Rumlow watched until he couldn't anymore. Pulling the trigger hadn't made him retch in twenty years, but he was on a schedule and time was wasting.
Other than the pistols, all Billy (or Bobby) and No Name had on them were stun guns and a knives strapped to their legs. Rumlow grimaced at the latter. He was decent in a knife fight, but guns and hand to hand were more in his comfort zone. He took them anyway. One never knew when a serrated steel blade might come in handy.
Smoke billowed from the dented hood of their car. If they'd lived, they'd never drive it again. His car was just fine, fully armored with reinforced glass on the windows. Ramming them from the side might not have been his best idea, but it had certainly done the trick. Two down, ten to go.
His sharp eyes swept over the car one final time. There was movement from the back seat. A head ducked out of sight, not fast enough to evade notice. Rumlow cocked his gun and stepped over No Name. He added another tally to the kill board in his head. Whichever of his old compatriots thought they could survive by cowering like a dog was about to get a devastating wake up call.
The side door opened easily, the lock in pieces with the glass. Rumlow withdrew a handgun. He pointed the laser at a head covered by a pair of hands. Hands that were small, uncalloused, and probably not belonging to anyone on his list.
"Don't shoot!" a female voice squeaked. "I'm not with them. They kidnapped me. Please don't shoot!"
Make that definitely.
Rumlow grumbled as he replaced the gun in its holster. What a waste of thirty seconds that had been. It was almost nine and he still hadn't found Rollins or Bakshi. A bright light shined from the cup holder, square and blue. A lockscreen with a standard issue background requested a passcode to unlock it. One of those geniuses had left their phone in plain sight, like a gift for him. All it needed was a bow on top.
Rumlow reached around the girl to snatch it up. Returning to his car, he did a quick inspection for minor damage. A thin scratch ran along the body and he frowned. It would take forever to buff that out. That girl was out of the car and on the sidewalk, her arms crossed over her chest as she bent over. She choked on what little air she could take in. He knew that feeling. Near death experiences hit you right in the gut, whether you were a civilian or a highly trained soldier turned mercenary.
She wiped her eyes as they landed squarely on his car. On him. Darkness made the color hard to discern, but he would guess brown. She paused with a foot in the air, like she'd wanted to run after him but thought better of it. If she was really smart, she'd get her ass off the street now before some other eager purgers made a prize out of her.
His headlights blinded her. She shied away, but not before Rumlow caught a glimpse of her face. She was young, late twenties at the most, not short but not tall either. She was a little too thin, but she had a pretty face. The kind that would immediately catch his attention at the bar. Too bad they couldn't have met twenty four hours from now.
He pressed on the pedal, the roaring engine her cue to move away before she became roadkill. "Do you mind? I have to go."
She started at his words, shouted out the window over a distant barrage of gunshots. She looked over her shoulder, a reflexive act. Those shots weren't anywhere close to them. No fear of stray bullets unless he fired them.
"Y-you're not going to kill me?" She moved now, but closer to him rather than away.
"I'm going to kill a lot of people," he said. "You're not one of them."
"But you…" she looked at the bodies. No Name's hand was an inch from her shoe and she kicked her foot back to avoid it.
"I've been hunting their whole group down for months. Would've killed them with or without you." He revved the engine twice, but it flew over her head as she continued to stand her ground. "Please get out of the way."
"Why do you want to kill them?" She pulled her spine straighter. It did not make her look calmer.
"Personal reasons," he said. "That's what Purging is for. Releasing the rage. Catharsis and shit. And I need to get a move on if I want all that rage out by sunrise."
"Wait! Do you need help?"
Rumlow laughed, even though that was rude, even for him. By the look on her face, she couldn't believe she'd said that anymore than he could. Regardless, her chance to back down came and went. She changed her stance to one of total surety and waited patiently for him to compose himself. "Okay, that was cute. Look, if you need a weapon, I can spot you a taser. You should hurry up and go home before you get hurt."
"I can't go home," she snapped. "My landlady… ex-landlady if I survive long enough… she sold me out to whatever group they work for. One purge victim in exchange for their protection. I was the lucky winner of that honor."
"There were others with them?" Rumlow jumped out of the car, photos in his hand seemingly by magic. He didn't remember picking them up. A wave of fear crossed her face and she clenched a fist. If she tried to punch him, he had a feeling her arm would shatter. She wasn't so small as to seem delicate, but she was clearly no fighter either. Just her luck she got dragged into heat of the Purge. He held the photographs under her nose. "Did any of them look like this?"
She pushed his hand away, making a sound of objection at his lack of personal space. Rumlow backed up a step, giving her room but keeping the photos in her line of sight.
"I don't think so," she said finally. "None of them look familiar."
Rumlow clicked his tongue. "Just hired guns then…" He had one more picture he hadn't shown her, but what were the odds of that smarmy dipshit doing any of his own dirty work? Zero, that's what. Less than zero.
Stuffing the photos in his pocket, Rumlow stomped back to his car, his heavy footfalls not loud enough to drown out the extra ones behind him. "You'll find them a lot faster with me."
"What could you possibly do to help?" he snapped "Why would you even want to?"
"To answer your first question, more than you think," she said confidently. "As for your second, here are my options right now: I could try to walk past more than a dozen groups of purgers who all have guns and knives and boobie traps just waiting for people like me. If by some miracle I got home alive, I'd just get re-kidnapped or else killed on the spot. Or I could stay and help you, in which case you'll have no choice but to protect me. So basically, I can either definitely die or possibly survive."
'Or I could shoot you and leave.'
Even as he thought it, Rumlow knew it was just a fantasy. He had a mission in mind and the senseless slaughter of innocents did not factor in, annoying as said innocent might be. She peeked around him into his car, the wheels in her head clearly turning. "I hope you know the password."
No Name's phone was in plain sight and well within her reach. "Do you know it?" he asked mockingly.
She shrugged and held out a hand. There must've been a carbon monoxide leak or some kind of fumes he was unknowingly inhaling, because he didn't get in and drive off like a sane person would. Instead he deposited the phone in her waiting grasp and watched silently as she fiddled with it. Goddammit, maybe he really was getting soft with age. It was her fault for giving him those wide puppy eyes. Nothing more dangerous than a pretty girl who knew how to use it.
Seconds passed as she clicked rapidly, her eyebrows knitted together, her tongue between her teeth. Rumlow checked his watch, waving goodbye to the precious moments he was wasting here. She cursed once or twice as whatever she had attempted presumably failed. "If you can't do it-"
A ping, then a click. She grinned and presented him with a screen full of apps and one of the standard backgrounds all phones came in. That was a surprise. For a guy like No Name, he was expecting porn.
"Good luck trying that on your own," she gloated. "Did I mention I can hack into almost anything? Up to and including government owned servers?"
Rumlow blinked. "No, you left that off your resume."
"And that's why you need me. How else are you going to get through their defenses?"
"With my guns," he replied, patting his sidearm. "I'm in their system now so what else is there to do?"
"More than you think," she said. "Do you know how long it took me to break the passcode?"
"One minute?" Rumlow guessed.
"Forty-eight seconds," she said. "I know because I counted. It should've taken me under ten."
"Maybe you're off your game."
"Or maybe they're using super advanced encryptions and firewalls. Do you think someone with access to that kind of technology is going to be squatting in the red light district? They're under the tightest security imaginable, especially tonight. How are you going to get past that?"
To her credit, she wasn't wrong.
"I'm not computer illiterate if that's what you're implying." He really should've just left by now. "I know exactly what kind of defenses they have because I helped set them up. Whatever I can't do on my own, that's what their tech people are for."
"You think they're going to help you kill their boss?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
Rumlow walked around to the trunk, running his hand over the car as he went. Pulling the latch, the lid sprang open. Inside would be pitch black without proper lighting. At least until her eyes adjusted and made out the unambiguous shape of scopes, trigger guards and a seemingly endless supply of bullets. Her face turned white. He should've done this from the start.
"I'm a real persuasive kind of guy," he said, closing his mini armory back up. "Anything else?"
She bent backwards as he took the long way to the driver's side, the way that required him to pass her by, so close his fingers grazed her jacket. He felt her stiffen, equal parts relief and, strangely enough, disappointment at the thought that he'd finally scared her away.
'This is why you don't do relationships,' he thought to himself. 'Stop getting attached. She'll probably be dead soon anyway.'
"Don't you think it would be easier to have someone who wants to help you?" she asked.
Rumlow shook his head. "You don't know when to quit."
"Buddy, you have no idea." She then proceeded to do something so bold and so monumentally stupid that Rumlow was struck dumb for at least a minute. The whole time they'd been talking, the driver's side door was left open. It hung there like an invitation, one she was only too happy to take. She crawled into his car and plopped her butt in the passenger seat. Pushing it back, she crossed her arms over her chest. She still had No Name's phone in her hand.
"Get out of my car," Rumlow ordered.
She tapped a few apps, typing away like this was normal and she belonged here.
"I'm not going to say it again."
"Good," she said, "because we're burning daylight, figuratively speaking."
Again, she wasn't wrong. Exasperating, yes, but not wrong. Never before had admiration for someone's tenacity and the need to snap someone's neck so powerfully intertwined in Rumlow's psyche. He could see there was no winning this battle, and she did have a point. He'd save a lot more time than he'd lost if he didn't have to beat information out of everyone. Plus, she was better than all those other tech guys by a wide margin. It used to take them ten minutes to do what she did in one. For his own sake, he put on a harsh face as he got into the car.
"You stay in here unless I tell you to get out," he said. "If you start to slow me down, I will leave you behind. Clear?"
"Crystal, bossman," she said with a mock salute.
He put the car into drive. "Do me a favor and don't call me that again."
"Not like I have an alternative yet," she said with an expectant look.
"Brock Rumlow," he said. No use lying or giving his old codename. "Just Rumlow to most people."
"Cool. I'm Da-" she paused, glancing at her lap with searching eyes. Searching for what, he didn't know, but it sounded important. "I mean… Skye. Call me Skye."
Skye it is then. If she thought her hesitance would pique his curiosity and she'd have someone to spill her life story to, she should get used to disappointment. Whatever need for socialization normal people possessed had been long since burned out of Rumlow. He would keep her alive until morning as long as she kept being useful. When the Purge was over, they'd go their separate ways and never see each other again. She'd return to her normal, carefree life with the loving family undoubtedly waiting for her, and he'd return to...
